


Wedding Vows (Pregnant Pauses Remix)

by JackyJango



Series: Remixes [14]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Arranged Marriage, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Implied Mpreg, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Royalty, Smitten Erik, well... sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: Charles doesn’t really know how his life came to be like this. He certainly hadn’t envisioned it in his wildest dreams. He’d always thought that he’d end up either being sold off by his step-brother and step-father to the highest bidder-- who’d in turn sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit-- or being married off to Mr. Shaw, who’d loot his dowry money and then sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit; a cripple and an Omega, as he was-- and a one who couldn’t birth children easily. And still here he was, being married off to the General of the Genoshan Army-- the latter who’d agreed to marry Charles despite his undesired conditions. Whether his fate was disposed in his favour, or against him, Charles had no idea.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Remixes [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/805248
Comments: 26
Kudos: 285
Collections: X-Men Remix 2020





	Wedding Vows (Pregnant Pauses Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pregnant Pauses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758204) by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan). 



> Though this is set in the AOB universe, there are no heats and mating cycles.  
> Warnings for mild albeit language (or social mindset)
> 
> All mistakes are my own, so please forgive them...
> 
> I hope you enjoy this remix Irene! :)  
> Cheers!

Charles doesn’t really know how his life came to be like this. He certainly hadn’t envisioned it in his wildest dreams. He’d always thought that he’d end up either being sold off by his step-brother and step-father to the highest bidder-- who’d in turn sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit-- or being married off to Mr. Shaw, who’d loot his dowry and  _ then  _ sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit; a cripple and an Omega, as he was-- and a one who couldn’t birth children easily. And still here he was, being married off to the General of the Genoshan Army-- the latter who’d agreed to marry Charles despite his undesired conditions. Whether his fate was disposed in his favour, or against him, Charles had no idea.

'He's the General of the Army, Charles,' Raven says pacing his room two days before the wedding. 'How different can he be from the likes of Cain and Kurt? Violence is in his blood.'

Different or not, people like Charles were not entitled to choices. It was either being married off to the General-- who might turn out to be a gentleman or a brute just like Kurt and Cain--or to a lecher like Mr. Shaw. And between the two, Charles’d rather gamble on the possibility of a future than none at all.

The wedding ceremony is a small affair, attended by the Markos, select members of the Royal Army and dignitaries. An old priest waits for their arrival beside the holy tree-- the freshly sprouted leaves thriving on its bowed branches.

His to-be husband is a tall man with a severe gash running across his face, cutting his right brow and cheek in half. The form fitting, black combat suit hugs his profile and highlights his broad shoulders and narrow waist. There’s no inflection in the square of his jaw or twinkle in the ash grey of his feral eyes. ‘He’s harsh, sour and ugly,’ the town’s people had told Charles upon hearing of his engagement. As the General stands proudly next to Charles at the end of the aisle, his military posture devoid of shame, Charles realises that beauty, oddly, is a fickle thing.

Just when Charles is about to wheel himself beside the Alpha down the aisle, the wooden wheel of his chair gets held by the unearthed mud and grass. Charles’ cheeks burn hot as he futilely tries to free himself, and the mortification only intensifies when the tell-tale sound of wood snapping fills his ears. 

A gentle hand lands on Charles’ shoulder just as he begins to hyperventilate, and a low voice says in his ear, ‘If you’ll allow me, I can carry you the rest of the way.’ And between sitting stuck on the aisle mortified and being carried in front of an audience-- in front of the  _ Markos-- _ Charles begrudgingly chooses the latter. Putting one arm below his knees and one beneath his arms, the General effortlessly picks him up and carries him down the aisle. Charles twines his arms around the General’s neck for support, and when the priest asks him if he agrees to let the General care for him, protect and love him, ‘I do,’ Charles whispers, closing his eyes and hiding his face in the crook of the General’s neck. At Least the Alpha’s scent is comforting enough to persuade Charles into believing that he isn’t lying to the Old priest, if only for a moment.

The wedding concludes soon after, but there’s still the matter of their wedding night. Charles looks, mouth agape at the excuse for a house that Erik lives under. An ensemble of metal would be a better word for it. Save for a desk and a bed, there’s nothing else in the meager space. Either by chance or choice, the layout gives him ample space to move around and maneuver his chair. The fact that the bed looks just a little comfortable is the only consolation. 

Erik approaches him slowly, fiddling with the ring that now sits on his left hand, like he too is unsure of what he must be doing. And suddenly, a panic grips Charles’ heart. Just as Erik opens his mouth to say something, Charles blurts out, ‘I want some more time.’ At Erik’s confused look, he continues, ‘I want some more time before we…’ he trails off eyeing the bed.

Erik--who’d been looking at him like a spooked horse-- relaxes at once and crouches in front of Charles. ‘Of course, as long as you want,’ he says with a surety that surprises Charles. Charles hadn’t counted on Erik acquiescing to his request. In fact, Charles hadn’t counted on much at all. Erik hesitantly takes Charles’ hand, and looking straight into his eyes, says, ‘For the longest time I’ve lived alone, Charles, but now that you’re here, this is as much a home to you as it is to me. So, please let me know if you need anything changed, and I’ll make sure this place is to your liking.’

Because he’s never been able to master the subtle art of taciturnity, Charles chews on his lower lip and says, ‘A kettle to make tea would be nice to have.’ When Erik huffs out a breath in amusement, he adds quickly, ‘And a place to store my books, too, if it’s not much of a bother.’

When Erik squeezes his hand and says, ‘I’ll have it arranged,’ Charles heaves out a breath he doesn’t remember holding.

Two days later, a hefty bookshelf arrives. So does an ensemble of a kitchenette, big enough to prepare tea and small meals. And so do two young lads-- orphans, who were apparently taken by Erik under his wing-- Alex and Sean, who according to Erik’s astute command are to look after Charles’ needs when the Alpha is in the Royal Arena training his troops.

More often than not, Erik returns from the Arena early and-- though a chore expected from an Omega-- prepares them a hearty supper. Sometimes they eat on the porch under the moonlight, and some other times, by their beds, where Erik pulls out a chair and table to accompany Charles. Some other times-- when the wind is howling outside or the heaven is pouring sheets of rain on them, Erik builds them a small fire, and bundled in layers of fur, Charles watches with a small smile as Erik recounts a story from the battle camps. 

‘You’re a marvellous cook,’ Charles tells Erik one night, just as the Alpha picks up their now empty bowls. Erik shrugs awkwardly, like a man who’s conflicted in the face of a compliment. 'The rations we carry to the battle are minimal, and I learnt very early on to make the best of the limited ingredients.’ Even in the dimming light of the candle, Charles doesn’t fail to notice the flush spreading throughout Erik’s face. He tries not to find it adorable, and fails. 

Charles is awoken on some nights to the sight of the Alpha trashing on the other side of the bed-- eyes closed and spewing war cries, one hand covering his face and the other swinging wildly in the air in a weak mockery of swordplay. Disregarding the possibility of an injury to his person, Charles moves closer to Erik-- close enough to radiate his body heat-- and calms him with words and gentle strokes of his hand through Erik’s short crop. Charles doesn’t utter a word about it come morning, just like Erik doesn’t utter a word about his legs; a mute agreement between the two.

One day when Erik’s fetching a book from one of the higher shelves at Charles’ behest, he comes upon a chess set. ‘Do you play?’ he asks with a twinkle in his eyes and Charles grins. Playing chess after supper almost becomes a ritual between them. Erik is a formidable opponent and Charles is perpetually kept on his toes. They talk plenty, too-- from politics to history and science, warfare to morals. Though Charles disagrees with Erik on numerous topics, he can’t deny the fact that Eriks is smart as a whip, undeniably determined, and undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with. 

‘You must be terribly bored at home while I’m away,’ Erik says casually as they play chess one night. ‘A bright mind like yours is wasted on the trivial.’ Charles’ cheeks flush a deep red at the praise. Ironically, Kurt Marko had fashioned the same mind to be the bane of Charles' existence. ‘I read,’ Charles replies, ‘and one day wish to continue in the line of research.’

‘Research?’ Erik asks, replacing Charles’ white horse with his Bishop. ‘What kind of research?’ Perking up at the question, Charles begins to elaborate on the books on science he’d read as a child- how a tiny spark of life was moulded and sculpted by nature to render humanity as the dominant species of existence. Erik watches him intently all the while, the dimming candle dancing in his dark eyes, gaze akin to one of a hungry wolf. ‘There’s a beta in the palace. Henry, I believe is his name. He, too, is a man of science. I could introduce you to him if you’d like,’ Erik says, moving his King up against Charles’, and adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes: ‘Also, Checkmate.’

Charles lets Erik win in gratitude.

The laboratory in the palace compound is ostentatiously large, well-equipped and abundantly resourceful. For a boy who's still in the cusp of manhood, Henry McCoy is a veritable genius. Charles spends the next few days in the laboratory, hungrily soaking in the new world he’s exposed to. Before leaving for the day, Hank wheels him to the Arena where Erik trains, and just as hungrily Charles watches Erik command his men, his low voice reverberating in the evening breeze and his lean muscles rippling with the fluid swings of the sword. Charles wonders absently how it’d be to stroke his palms over Erik’s broad shoulders, kiss his thin lips and the scar that runs through his cheek; how it’d be to bear Erik’s warm weight above him, hear the Alpha’s low growl in his ear all the while-. Charles shakes his head to cut that line of thought before it takes a permanent residence in his head. 

On some days when the weather is still pleasant, they take a stroll through the palace gardens before heading home, Erik pushing his wooden chair through the narrow gravelled path. The cool evening breeze brings in a heady concoction of scents-- the sweetness of lilies and the spiciness of Erik’s Alpha musk-- and the setting sun bathes the fountain’s water and the white swans within it in a golden light. Charles takes in a deep breath and exhales, just as a smile tugs at his lips.

Charles has been to the market several times and yet, venturing into it with Erik is a novel experience, with traders and shop owners constantly stopping them to greet their General. For a man who has managed to lead a solitary life, Erik sure is a popular man. ‘My mate, Charles Xavier,’ Erik introduces him-- as and when they’re stopped-- with a warm hand on Charles’ shoulder and pride in his eyes. 

Charles is admiring the intricate patterns on a silk scarf when he hears a man snickering behind them while commenting something about his chair. Charles turns in the man’s direction just in time to catch Erik punching the man in the gut and growling, ‘Watch yourself. You’ll be biting the dust if you utter one more word about my mate.’ And if Charles catches something close to possessiveness in Erik’s voice, then it’s only his wistful thinking.

That night Charles whispers a hoarse ‘ _ thank you _ ’ to Erik’s sleeping form, because besides Raven, he can’t remember another person who had stood up for him, who had looked at him and hadn't seen only a chair. And if Charles’ eyes stung with collected moisture, then there’s no one to witness it.

Two days later, Erik approaches him hesitantly, hands twisted in the same blue scarf Charles had fancied in the market. ‘We never got to purchase anything the other day,’ Erik says in lieu of an explanation, ‘You seemed to have liked this.’ Erik holds out the blue scarf in front of him like a shield. ‘And I thought that it would compliment your eyes, and-’ he trails off, eyes wandering. 

Shy! He’s shy, Charles realises with no small amount of amusement. The tough General of the Royal Army, the most feared Alpha in all of the Genoshan palace is holding out a scarf in front of his Omega with wide eyes and a furious blush. Who could have guessed? ‘Thank you, Erik,’ Charles says, fighting a blush of his own as Erik comes forward to twine the scarf around Charles’ neck, and when Erik’s fingers touch Charles’ skin, they leave sparks in its wake. Something flips in Charles’ chest and a low heat fills his stomach. He takes a deep whiff of Erik’s scent coating the scarf and blames it for the feeling.

‘You look happy,’ Raven tells him during one of their regular afternoon tea parties. Charles chuckles. ‘Whatever do you mean, dear sister?’ She steals a biscuit from his plate and shrugs. ‘I can’t explain,’ she says gesturing to his face, ‘Your cheeks are fuller, and your eyes are brighter. You just  _ look  _ happier.’

‘Well, that’s because I am,’ Charles says and realises that he means it.

Erik is in a foul mood when he gets home that evening, the scowl creasing his brow twisting the scar on his face. ‘There has been a minor scuffle at the border and the Empress wants me to go and settle it,’ Erik says over the chess board. 

Charles’ breath catches in his throat and his hand freezes mid-move. ‘How long will you be gone?’ Charles asks, recovering. 

‘A month or two at max.’ Erik’s frown deepens. ‘I leave tomorrow.’

Charles sleeps in fits that night and the dreams that encase his mind are not pleasant. 

As the rest of his retinue leaves the next day, Erik crouches in front of Charles and brings their foreheads together. ‘I’ll be back soon, I promise,’ he whispers into the scant space between them, ‘Please take care of yourself.’

Charles’ hand trembles as he unclasps the golden chain from his neck-- his father’s, with an encircled ‘X’ dangling from it-- and clasps it around Erik's. ‘Please come back soon,’ he pleads, neglecting the despair or the wobble in his voice. Erik's retreating form is blurry with the moisture obscuring Charles’ view.

Though Alex and Sean practically take up to living with him, the days that go by without Erik are dull and sombre. The food tastes bland, science uninviting and even Raven's company inadequate. Charles finds himself thinking about Erik's safety while dissecting a plant stem in the laboratory or while bent solely over the chess set stranded mid-game, begging to be resumed. And when he sleeps, it's in Erik's tunic and on his Alpha's side of the bed, for it still smells like his husband.

His husband! His Alpha! Charles smiles woefully wondering when he began associating those words with Erik. It matters little when his dreams are flavoured with Erik’s scent.

Two fortnights later, Alex barges in announcing Erik's arrival, followed shortly by the man himself. Erik is battered and bruised. His combat suit is torn in a few places and smeared with blood. There are a new set of scars on his face, and no doubt, many more under his suit. The golden chain that hangs from Erik’s neck glints in the tender light of dawn. Erik may be ugly to the rest, but at that moment, he’s the most beautiful thing Charles has ever seen.

'Erik--' Charles says, voice broken and hoarse and on the verge of breaking into a sob. Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by Erik, who slams into him jerkily and pulls him into a fierce hug. Charles hides his face in the crook of Erik's neck and laughs wetly.

A week later the Empress hosts a dinner to celebrate the victory of Erik and his men over the border tensions. Charles beams proudly as Erik receives a new sword from Empress Frost in gratitude, and after dinner and a few rounds of alcohol, he finds himself truly enjoying the celebrations. They skip from group to group making small talk before stumbling upon the Prydes. 

Charles watches fondly as Erik takes up the task of entertaining a three-year-old Katherine, and judging by the way the little girl is giggling in Erik's arm, succeeding. 'You'll make a great father one day, you know,' Carmen-- who's watching his General and daughter with a smile of his own-- says clapping Erik on the back.

Theresa turns towards Charles then and says with a gentle smile, 'Children are a blessing, aren't they?'

'They are,' Charles agrees with a longing he hasn't felt in a very long time. 

Oh, how he wishes he could give Erik this. How he wishes it for himself. In more ways than one, they're both broken men, Erik and him. How Charles wishes their broken pieces could fit together to create something beautiful. Something  _ whole _ . A new life-- part Erik’s and part Charles’. A new future.  _ Their _ future. 

'Erik-' Charles begins to say as they're about to turn in that night just as Erik says at the same time, 'Charles-'

They end up laughing and Erik urges Charles to go first.

'It's not that...' Charles averts his eyes, wringing his hands on his lap. 'It's not that I can't bear children. The physician said that it would get complicated even if I could because of my...' He swallows the lump in his throat. 'Because of my...'

'It doesn't matter,' Erik says with a steel in his voice that Charles has never heard from the Alpha before, and Charles doesn't dare look up at Erik's approaching form. He doesn't look up even when Erik crouches before him and takes his hand. Charles only looks at Erik when the Alpha presses a warm palm against his cheek and turns his face towards him. 'It doesn't matter,' Erik says again, looking straight into his eyes, gaze warm and intent. 'We can try, and if you still can't carry children then we can adopt a bunch of brats, and if even that doesn't work out, then we'll always have Alex and Sean.'

Because he’s never been able to master the subtle art of taciturnity, Charles chews on his lower lip and asks-- voice barely above a whisper, 'What were you about to tell me earlier?'

Erik smiles softly, the upturn of his lips pulling at the edges of his scar. 'I was saying that nothing really matters because I love you.'

And because Charles can't help but kiss that smile, he pulls Erik's face and does just that.

**_~2 years later~_ **

Charles doesn’t really know how his life came to be like this. He certainly hadn’t envisioned it in his wildest dreams. He’d always thought that he’d end up either being sold off by his step-brother and step-father to the highest bidder-- who’d in turn sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit-- or being married off to Mr. Shaw, who’d loot his dowry and  _ then  _ sell him off to a brothel at a lucrative profit; a cripple and an Omega, as he was-- and a one who couldn’t birth children easily. And still here he is, holding his daughter close to his chest, her tiny, pink fingers holding on to his bigger ones. 

‘What do we call her?’ Erik asks, voice filled with wonder. ‘Erika has a ring to it, doesn’t it?’

Charles bats his husband’s shoulder lightly. ‘Hush. None of that. We’re calling her Anya.’

‘Anya,’ Erik whispers, gently trailing a fingertip along his daughter’s smooth cheek. ‘Perfection.’

Charles looks at his mate, who’s grinning giddily at the little blob of life in his arms, and at the life that they’ve created for themselves and realises that, yes, it is.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :D  
> Please do let me know what you thought!
> 
> Also, [JackyJango](www.jackyjango.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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